


I Sing The Body Electric

by Machina (XMachina)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Brainwash, Torture, Violence, bad stuff here folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XMachina/pseuds/Machina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I sing the body electric.<br/>I gasp the body organic.<br/>I miss the body remembered.<br/>-Cecil Palmer”</p><p> </p><p>Yellow helicopters swarm in the sky. A lone radio host stands atop a roof, praying out loud. His end is near. And his beginning is yet to come. Welcome To Desert Bluffs, owned and operated by StrexCorp Synernists Incorporated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Prologue, Of Sorts

The air was eerily still, Kevin observed, which perhaps was the improper thought for the moment. But he felt it must mean something. He was quite certain, it must, actually. Usually, if one were to stand atop the roof of the DBPR station, the wind would be whistling, if not howling, past. But as he gave his emergency broadcast, curled up in fetal position atop the roof, he found it was eerily still. 

“Listeners.” He licked his chapped lips nervously, before pressing them close the microphone. He had to hold it close to his mouth, and shout over the roar of helicopters. Helicopters that did not churn up the air as they should. “Listeners, the helicopters are closing in. They’re everywhere. They’re on the ground, they’re in the air. They’re closing in on me now. I pray... I pray you are all okay. I pray you are hiding somewhere safe. I pray you are so far away, you don’t have to listen to me pray for you at all.” 

His hands trembled, slick with blood. His own blood. It was horrifying, but he dared not look, only to grip onto the microphone with what was left of the strength they hadn’t beaten out of him, as they beat down the door he’d tried so desperately to protect. 

He realized his listeners were waiting. And then, the fear in his gut increased, and dropped lower still, like cement. They were waiting for answers. And he didn’t have any anymore. Trapped atop the roof, his only prayer was he could tell them what was happening, he could warn them in time. His false hope was gone. He could no longer lead the silent, unuttered prayers that they were stronger than this. Not like this. His hands were trembling so hard it was difficult to hold the microphone. 

He knew what kind of message his ragged breathing was sending, but he couldn’t help it. He’d barely been able to run from the hordes of smiling workers fighting him to the door. It hadn’t been a fight at all. Everything hurt, he couldn’t tell what had been broken. But he didn’t want his listeners to know that. 

“Listeners,” he croaked. He wasn’t sure what to say, but that worked out just fine. He had to pull the microphone away from his face to choke up blood. The thing fell out of his hands, thunking against the roof, and rolling away, until it caught on the wire holding it to his makeshift little broadcasting setup. 

He ran his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t look at himself, he knew he was bleeding out all over himself, and it made him faint to look at. Dry heaving several more times, he stuck out a shaky hand for the microphone. They needed him. They didn’t have anything else, he knew that. He didn’t want it to be true. He couldn’t save them, and he felt, if he couldn’t save them with his voice alone, it was his fault. He was supposed to lead them through this rebellion. And here he was, bleeding out on the roof. He saw at least four or five of his hand as his vision blurred, so reaching for the microphone became a struggle. Slick fingers grasped at it, though it wasn’t much use. He was weakly sprawled out on the roof. He was going to die here, wasn’t he? 

He was delirious, fingers loosely wrapped around the microphone, on the floor beside him. He moved his lips, but didn’t make any sound. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he breathed out, “I feel…. fear. I am afraid, Desert Bluffs.” 

He should turn this off. Nobody was listening. They were all in the midst of this chaos, weren’t they? Something was happening, and he didn’t quite understand what, but there was rapid knocking at the metal door to the roof, and the whir of helicopters roared up above. Kevin slowly closed his eyes, blocking out the blinding light, and welcoming the darkness.

“Until next time, Desert Bluffs.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ke-e-e-vin,” sang a voice, soft, but close. Like someone was whispering in his ear. He felt cold, slender fingers against his jaw. It was a gentle touch, but the fingers themselves did not feel comforting. His eyelids hung heavy, and he could only open them slightly. Instantly, the blur of white, artificial light poured in. He squeezed them shut again. “K-e-e-e-vin,” the voice persisted. 

The man only managed a soft groan, more like a pitiful exhale through his teeth. He lolled his head from one side to the other, before slowly opening his eyes. Instantly, it was too bright. Bars of fluorescent light swam in his vision. His lips moved lethargically. “Until next time,” he mouthed, unsure why. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Kevin slowly shifted his gaze, scanning the room. The walls were bright white, and there were greenish counters lining the room. Atop the counter was all sorts of things, that he could barely see, his vision still failing him. The floor was bright linoleum, waxed so that it was reflecting the light back. All of it was too bright. Though anyone outside of Bluffs might recognize it as akin to a hospital room, Kevin had never been in one in his life, and so the entire thing was horrifying and foreign. 

Once he adjusted to the light, and things stopped swimming in his view, he focused on the source of the voice. A woman smiled brightly back at him. With that StrexCorp smile, reminiscent of their supposed God. He recognized her, after a moment. Lauren. Vice president of Strex. His stomach dropped like it had turned to led. She was hovering over him. 

It was then it occurred to him to move. He bit down on his lip, moving to sit up, but found he couldn’t. Firstly, his entire body was numb. There was no feeling anywhere. Secondly, which he noticed upon looking down, there were firm straps belted around his appendages. Like he were some Frankenstein-esque monster. He was jolted out of his slow, muddled thinking by Lauren’s bright voice. 

“I bet you’re feeling much better now, huh? Welcome back to the world of the living, huh?” He blinked at her. “That’s okay, you’ve been out for a while. Maybe even a week or more now. No doubt you’re still feeling tired, huh, sleepyhead?” 

“What…” Kevin breathed. His voice came so raspy, it came out more as a croaked syllable. He’d never heard himself like this. It was frightening. He coughed, and suddenly felt weaker than ever, like the process of coughing might split his body in two. He tried in vain to reach to touch his throat. 

Lauren let out a noise that was more or less the same as a young girl squealing excitedly. She giggled, reaching towards him. He flinched, but his reaction time was drastically impeded. She moved her hand to tug off the paper hospital gown he was wearing, leaving him in a pair of clean, yellow shorts. He looked at her, his expression still blank. It was beyond him, at this point, to fathom anything that was going on here. His mind felt nearly as numb as his body. 

“Oh Kevin, you are going to love this,” she cheered enthusiastically. She propped up the bed so that he was sitting up rather than lying flat. His heart was pounding in his chest as he gained enough headspace to be afraid. She spun the bed to face a tall mirror attached to one of the cabinets in the room. It took him a moment to process everything.


End file.
